Thomas froze in terror. What had the lad learned of him? Suddenly aware of a sharp pain, he looked down at his hands. He had clenched them until his nails dug into the palms. Opening one fist, he saw a small drop of blood emerging.
“Although your deeds have been done in modest silence, you are well-known amongst powerful men for your service on behalf of God’s justice.”
Swallowing ale to wash away the dryness of fear, the monk hoped he had command of his voice. “Methinks you are mistaken. I am of less significance in holy work than a dust mote.” Rubbing off the sweat beading on his forehead, Thomas relaxed. At least Simon did not seem to know of the monk’s time in prison or the cause. Then he wondered if he should worry that the young man knew about Thomas’ work as a spy.
“I was told of your bravery in catching the man who murdered two others, one a monk, at Amesbury. Some credit your prioress for uncovering the perpetrators of sinful acts. They are fools. Women are but trifles, and not one would chase a killer up a steep roof. A single misstep could have sent you to your death. That was a man’s deed!”
Thomas started to correct the story, for he most certainly had not chased anyone up a slippery roof. Then he thought the better of it. Believing the tale, the young man might reveal more of his concerns. He might even disclose his motive in mentioning this particular story, were he not interrupted. If some greater good was served, the monk decided God would surely forgive him for allowing an insignificant fallacy.
“I do wonder that you find any peace in a priory run by a woman and an Order with such an unusual rule.” Simon shook his head and spun around to face the monk. “It may be my duty to serve my mother, for she gave birth to me. Now that she has denied me my rightful place as a man for too long, methinks it is against the natural order to obey her further.”
“Forebear awhile longer. Queen Eleanor has shown confidence enough in your mother to send her on the journey here. She might yet persuade the queen to intervene with King Edward on your behalf. Should that happen and you regain anything of your father’s estates, you can repay her diligence with honor and comfort in her aged years, as a man ought, if she does not remarry.”
“Surely you cannot believe she will succeed!” Simon returned to the table, sat down, and began worrying the wood with his fingernail.
Thomas could not answer with any certainty, never having met Simon’s mother or the queen. As for King Edward, the monk had seen him years ago. The young prince had been several years older and had no cause to pay heed to the many awe-struck and dusty boys surrounding him, especially one who was a bastard. All Thomas could remember was his height, that he was deft with a sword in practice bouts, and handsome, although he spoke with a lisp. None of that pointed to whether the new king might grant any plea brought by his wife on this lad’s behalf.
“As I have already said, she cannot.” Simon shrugged. “The lands have gone to men loyal to kingship, or else into the king’s hand where the income helps fill his coffers. As for the title, some minor lord now boasts it, and he went with King Edward on his crusading pilgrimage to Outremer. I must remain the son of a traitor and am being kept from proving my manhood.” Simon’s tone was bitter.
Thomas nodded, stopping himself from responding to the youth’s resentment. Although Simon’s bristled cheeks might prove he had a man’s body, his expression called to mind a petulant child.
“I have begged my mother to get me the loan of a horse and armor. With that, I would earn enough in tournaments to buy my own land and probably gain a knighthood. She refuses to ask for that boon of any at court, saying the surrender of hope would be dishonorable.”
“If the likelihood of regaining your father’s title and lands is so bleak, then you must earn trust by modest and responsible action. What have you done to prove yourself worthy to other men?”
A sheen of sweat broke out on Simon’s forehead. “I spoke with one man who welcomed me to his table and heard my plea. He had been my father’s friend and an early supporter of the Earl of Leicester. After Lord Edward escaped de Montfort’s custody, by tiring his guards’ horses and then fleeing on a rested beast, the man abandoned the earl for the king. Unlike my father, he saved his patrimony.”
Thomas’ look asked the question.
“His daughter was wanton! She lured me into a garden, tempted me beyond all reason, and then refused her body. I beat her for that wickedness and she screamed. Her mother found us and believed the creature’s lies. I was cast into the street.” Simon threw up his hands in outrage at the insult committed against him.
“No father would loan money to a landless youth who had just beaten his daughter, nor, out of loyalty, would any of the father’s friends and kin. Surely you must understand why.” Thomas was sorely tempted to forget his vows and pummel the lad himself on behalf of the girl and her father.
“So my mother has said, but men also understand how women lead us into sin. Priests remind us often enough of their wicked nature.”
So much for that attempt to enlighten the lad about the ways of mortal fathers, Thomas thought. On the other hand, if Simon had a warrior’s talent, he might find men with wealth and ambition who prized battle skills above any woman’s honor, especially men who had not married and bred daughters they loved. “Do you know of any others who might take up your cause?”
Simon brightened and seemed about to speak. Then a frown dulled his look and he quickly turned away. “Most do fear giving any favor to a traitor’s son, especially when the king has turned his back on several who fought on de Montfort’s side.” He sadly shook his head and gazed at the monk, waiting for him to respond.
Once again, Thomas caught himself suspecting that the expression of despair was calculated. “What of Baron Otes? There was time enough on this journey from court for either you or your mother to approach him. Or had he already refused?”
His face turning scarlet, Simon slammed his fist on the table. “He was an odious man, and I salute his killer!”
Thomas was shocked at the passionate response. With dismay he now remembered that Simon had not come to the hermitage until the morning after the baron was found dead.
Had he given shelter to a murderer?
Chapter Twenty-four
“Rise, Prior Andrew.” Eleanor’s voice was icy with controlled anger.
He tried, then stumbled, tears flowing down stubbled cheeks. His broken sobbing was painful to hear, as if some dull sword were ripping at his flesh.
She turned her back, refusing him the mercy of assistance and unwilling to let him see that she was as grieved as he. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she waited until the sounds of his struggles to regain his balance had ceased. Slowly, she turned around, folded her hands, and waited in silence.
“I will accept whatever punishment you order, my lady. From this moment on, I bear no title and remain a simple monk who has deeply sinned against you.” He bowed his head with respect and because he could not bear to look her in the eye.
Eleanor gestured for Gytha to approach. “We need wine,” she murmured, then waited until the young woman had left before speaking further to Andrew. “There will be punishment, but not until God grants me the wisdom to make a just decision. In the meantime, I must know why I had to hear about your argument with Baron Oates from Brother Beorn. You swore to tell me all when we last spoke, and I can think of no reason why you did not mention this heated discussion then.”
The prior opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and began again to weep.
Gytha brought two pewter goblets with a pottery jug. As the maid poured the wine, Eleanor shuddered. For some reason, the bright red color reminded her of blood. Nodding for the young woman to retreat to her position by the chamber door, the prioress turned her attention back to the prior, her expression suggesting she had little patience left.